tion, the absence of the simple
pleasures of life. It was not their quarrels, even when they came to
blows, that determined her action. It was a revolt from the radical
sterility of Terry's philosophy. Katie furnished her with the necessary
money, and she went away to California. There this tired creature, this
civilised product of the slums, this thoughtful prostitute, this
striving human being full of the desire for life and as eager for
excellence as is the moth for the star, went into camp, and there, in
the bosom of nature, her terrible fatigue was well expressed in the
great sense of relief that resulted: a new birth, as it were, a
refreshing reaction from slum life and overstrained mental intensity.
This new birth and this reaction from Terry's philosophy are well
expressed in her letters to Terry and to me. To me she wrote:

"I have not dared to write you before for fear of your anger toward me
for my abrupt dismissal of our plans of meeting, but I could not help
it. The life instinct in me would not be doomed, but was insistent in
its demands and made me flee from insanity and death. So here I am, far
away from civilisation, from the madding crowd, away up in the
mountains, making a last effort to live the straight free life of
Nature's children, a suckling at the breasts of Mother Earth. And truly
her milk is passing sweet and goes to the head like wine, for I feel
intoxicated with the beauty and joy of all things here in this new,
wonderful world. I did not know that such beauty existed, and my
appreciation of it is so intense that it produces sensations of physical
pain. I live much as the birds do, or at least try to--no thought of the
morrow, or of the past, except when I receive a letter from dear old
Katie or from Terry. Katie asks me if I have found a job yet, and Terry
has some sweet reflections about death or dead things. But I recover in
an amazingly short time from these blows, climb to the mountain-top,
extend my arms to the heavens, and embrace passionately the great,
grand, throbbing stillness.

"I have been here now a whole month and have not yet wearied of it for a
moment. Each day brings a new, wonderful experience; and each day I feel
a real part of the great wonderful scheme of things. Indeed, I am
becoming a part of nature. I have grown so straight and tall, and so
beautifully thin and supple that I can dart in and out of the stream
without bumping myself against the rocks, can climb steep